


tell me how it ends (i'd do it all again)

by courfeyrac



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Romance, all the AcaDec kids are also in this!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfeyrac/pseuds/courfeyrac
Summary: Michelle has a theory: Peter Parker is Spider-Man.It’s a little far-fetched, and some of her evidence is circumstantial, but it’s genuinely the only thing that explains why Peter’s been acting so goddamn strange for the past year and a half. Most people would chalk it up to Peter’s home life, which she gets. She does. But the thing is that Peter started acting weird before his uncle got shot.





	tell me how it ends (i'd do it all again)

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all. 
> 
> I've had a very specific scene from this fic stuck in my head for a year and a half, but for whatever reason I could never bring myself to actually write it down. Last night I saw Into the Spider-Verse (PHENOMENAL!!!!! GO SEE IT IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!) and it breathed a life back into me I thought I'd lost forever. As soon as I woke up this morning, I wrote this entire fic. Wow. Thanks, Spider-Verse, for the personal creative renaissance. 
> 
> Anyway, this is my first foray into writing for the MCU instead of just reading it. I hope I did all my favorite writers (and inspirations) justice. It's post-Homecoming but pre-Infinity War since the idea came to me last July and also because I'm still depressed about Bucky and I don't like to think about Infinity War if I don't have to. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy!

Michelle has a theory: Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

It’s a little far-fetched, and some of her evidence is circumstantial, but it’s genuinely the only thing that explains why Peter’s been acting so goddamn _strange_ for the past year and a half. They’re not friends, exactly, because Michelle doesn’t have the energy to deal with barely-pubescent teenage boys who drool over Academic Decathlon team captains and build Lego Death Stars in their free time, but she sits a few seats down from him and Ned at lunch, and even though he’s kind of immature, at least he’s not as annoying as _Flash._

Most people would chalk it up to Peter’s home life, which she gets. She does. She can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to lose a parental figure, especially when that parental figure is actually an uncle because both your actual parents disappeared and were presumed dead before you even learned how to read. But the thing is that Peter started acting weird _before_ his uncle got shot.

He went MIA for a few hours on a class field trip to OsCorp, which isn’t out of the ordinary for Peter—he’s a wanderer, a lover of science, and has selective illiteracy when it comes to signs that say _keep out_. It’s more surprising when he _doesn’t_ disappear on a field trip. But he didn’t come to school for the rest of the week, and when he finally returned the following Monday, it was like he’d been injected with the same serum they used on Steve Rogers back in the 40s. He jumped at lockers slamming fifty feet away, stopped huffing-and-puffing his way through suicides in gym class, and dove halfway across the chem classroom to catch Betty Brant’s glass beaker before it shattered on the floor. Not to mention he was suddenly and inexplicably _jacked._ Michelle wasn’t staring, okay, she’s _dignified_ , but it was impossible to ignore the way the hem of Peter’s shirt crept up as he stretched in his chair to reveal a set of abs he absolutely did not have the week before.

A few weeks later, Spider-Man started swinging his way through the city, helping elderly ladies cross the street and webbing bicycle thieves to the nearest brick wall.

Michelle didn’t make the connection right away. Why would she? What fifteen year old kid spends his free time moonlighting as an honest to god masked vigilante? It wasn’t until Peter disappeared the same weekend Iron-Man and Captain America destroyed an airport in Germany that she really began to suspect he was dealing with something more than grief. Factor in Peter’s brand new Stark Internship, his sudden lack of extra-curricular activities, and Spider-Man showing up in Washington D.C. a few hours after Peter skipped the AcaDec championship, and Michelle _knows_ she’s onto something.

She’s just not sure what to do with her information, now that she has it. How do you tell a kind-of-friend-but-mostly-acquaintance that you know their secret identity? She’s not even sure if Ned knows. Well, he probably does, considering Peter’s expressive face gives away all of his emotions and Ned is probably the nosiest person she’s ever met, but still. Ned is Peter’s best friend. It would make sense for him to know, for him to be a part of Peter’s superhero team. What could Michelle bring to the table?

If she’s going to reveal her hand, it has to be at the right moment. Until she figures out _what_ the right moment is, she’s going to have to be smart about this.

A few weeks before Homecoming, Michelle sits down a seat away from Peter and Ned instead of her usual four. This, for whatever reason, scares the shit out of them. 

“Uh, Michelle,” Ned says, “is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks, feigning nonchalance. 

“You’re, uh,” Peter stammers. “You’re sitting a lot closer to us now.”

“Is that a problem?”

She takes a pointed sip of her tea, raising one of her eyebrows as she looks at them over the rim of the cup. Ned turns white as a sheet.

“It’s no problem,” he says. “No problem at all. Right, Peter?”

“Right, Ned. No problem.”

Their bumbling quickly turns into silence. Michelle pretends to read her book and watches them attempt to silently communicate out of the corner of her eye. It involves a lot of wide eyes and sharp hand movements. They must come to some sort of conclusion, though, because Peter turns to her and asks, much calmer than before, “Whatcha reading?”

She lifts the book from the table to flash the cover: _Bad Feminist_ by Roxane Gay. Michelle likes to reread it every once in a while to see how her interpretations change as she matures. She also likes to have books on hand that she’s already read for when she wants to do a little eavesdropping—like she does now.

Unsurprisingly, Peter and Ned are inept at holding a conversation once the topic of feminism is introduced, so they stop trying to engage her and instead chat with each other. She discovers that Peter’s going to Homecoming with Liz—how he managed that, Michelle has no idea—and that May Parker is making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner if Ned wants to come over, but there’s no mention of Spider-Man.

This might take longer than she thought.

* * *

Michelle doesn’t have a crush on Peter Parker. She swears. She’s sixteen but reads at an advanced college level, she’s already in contact with the admissions boards at Yale and Stanford, and she might not make it all the way to the White House but she sure as hell is going to make some waves as a Senator someday. She can’t afford to have crushes.

It’s just that sometimes she zones out in class and finds herself staring in Peter Parker’s direction. And when she’s sketching in detention because she doesn’t feel like going home to an empty apartment, she draws four different versions of Peter, even if there are other people in the room she could focus on instead. And when Betty asks her if she’s got a date to Homecoming, the first name that comes to mind is _Peter, Peter, Peter._

It’s a problem. More importantly, it’s a problem she doesn’t know how to solve.

* * *

“I like your dress,” Abe says, pointing at the yellow and white tulle of her skirt.

Michelle won’t admit it to anybody, but she spent a lot of time picking out the right dress for Homecoming. She’s not totally sure why, since she doesn’t have a date and it’s _Homecoming,_ not prom. Either way, she took her mother’s credit card after AcaDec practice one day and combed through six stores before finding the one she’s wearing now. It makes her feel grown-up and pretty in a way she usually doesn’t.

She’s standing in a circle with Abe, Cindy, Sally, and Charles. None of them really know how to dance, so they’re just bopping to the music and laughing at something dumb Charles says. Ned waves at someone coming in the front doors, and Michelle turns to see that it’s Peter. He’s not with Liz, which is weird. She flicks him off and he doesn’t react, which is weirder.

He walks to the center of the dance floor, where Michelle can now see Liz. She wonders why they didn’t come in together. Maybe Liz drove to school and didn’t want to swing across town to pick up Peter? That would be pretty rude, though, and Liz is more considerate than that. Maybe they decided last-minute not to go as dates. Michelle feels a burst of hope in her chest that she dampens as soon as she sees Liz smile at Peter. Liz doesn’t smile like that for everyone.

“Aw, man,” Cindy whines. “Someone spiked the punch.”

“No way!” Abe says, reaching for her cup with both hands. “Gimme some!”

“Abe!” Cindy scolds. “I’m not letting your low tolerance get us kicked out of Homecoming! Do you know how long it took me and Liz to put up these decorations?”

“An hour and a half?” Charles asks.

“Try an hour and a half every day after school for two weeks.”

“It took you that long just to do _this?”_ Abe asks, looking around the gymnasium with furrowed brows.

“Oh, shut up,” Cindy says. “Come help me find some non-spiked punch. Michelle, you want some?”

“Yeah,” Michelle answers. “If you can find it.”

Cindy and Sally drag the two boys across the gym to where Michelle is sure Liz has some extra punch stashed away in preparation for a situation like this. As she watches them go, she sees Peter sprint towards the doors that lead to the rest of the school.

“I, uh,” Ned says. “I’m gunna go check on him. Make sure he doesn’t have… food poisoning… or diarrhea… or something.”

Yeah, Ned _definitely_ knows.

For a moment, Michelle considers following Ned and catching Peter in the Spider-Man act, but then she notices Liz standing all alone in the center of the dance floor, one arm across her stomach and hand gripping her other elbow. Michelle and Liz aren’t close friends—they respect each other as AcaDec teammates and women of color—but what kind of feminist would she be if she didn’t support another girl when a dumb boy hurts her feelings?

Michelle and Liz hold hands and jump up and down to every song for the rest of the night—even the slow ones, since neither of them have dates to embrace. The next day, the news breaks that Liz’s father has been trafficking weapons, hijacked one of Tony Stark’s private planes full of tech, and was captured on Coney Island by the one and only Spider-Man. Michelle doesn’t see much of Liz after that.

* * *

The Monday after Homecoming, Mr. Harrington appoints Michelle AcaDec team captain. The table in the library feels crowded without Liz, like they’re all trying too hard to make up for her absence. Michelle wonders how she’s going to fill her shoes—if she’s even captain material at all or if she’s just the one Mr. Harrington trusts most not to fall victim to petty arguments or bell-related comedic timing.

Peter smiles at her from across the table, soft and private, and Michelle thinks about what Liz would do.

“My friends call me MJ,” she reveals.

“I thought you didn’t have any friends?” Ned asks, not unkindly.

“I didn’t,” Michelle says, unsure how to finish the sentence. She’s always been a bit of a lone wolf, more interested in reading or sketching than watching YouTube videos with people at lunch or gossiping about who’s gotten together or who’s broken up in the bathroom in-between classes. She’s used to spending evenings alone, so she’s never felt a strong desire to invite people over for dinner or sleepovers or even group study sessions. She likes being alone.

But she also likes her teammates. She likes Abe’s comedic bell ringing, and the goofy smile on Charles’ face when Cindy laughs at one of his jokes, and how Betty includes Michelle in conversations about boys even though Michelle never officially joins in. She likes hearing Ned and Peter argue over their theories for the next _Star Wars_ movie at lunch, even though they’re both wrong and Michelle’s got it all figured out. She loves the way it felt to have the whole team squeezing her after they won nationals—to hear them chanting her name the whole bus ride to the Washington Monument. And wasn’t she petrified when the monument cracked? Not out of empathy for other human beings, but because her team—her _friends,_ she’d said to Spider-Man _—_ were up there with potentially no way out.

So maybe she does have friends. And maybe she does have a crush on Peter. And maybe it’s not the end of the world.

* * *

Michelle doesn’t hold AcaDec practice as often as Liz did, but she sends her teammates home with specific assignments. Flash needs to work on literature, so she has him write detailed summaries of the novels most commonly referenced in AcaDec questions. She tells Charles to focus less on answering immediately and more on actually hearing the question by repeating it out loud before giving his response. Ned’s mental math is lacking; she gives him a handful of multiplication and long division worksheets.

Peter’s good at everything except for showing up to the few practices she actually holds. 

She corners him one morning before first period, when she knows he’ll be sleepy and therefore less alert.

“Parker,” she says from behind his open locker. He jumps about a foot in the air.

“God, MJ,” he says. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

“Yester—yesterday afternoon?”

She notices the stammer, the shifty eyes, and the way he scratches at the back of his neck. He must have been out doing Spider-Man business. He probably doesn’t even realize he missed practice.

“Yes, you idiot,” she says. “Yesterday afternoon. We had practice, remember?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry—something came up with the Stark Internship, and—“

“I thought you lost the Stark Internship.”

“I did,” he says. “And then I got it back. So I have to work really hard to keep it, and I guess I just forgot about practice. I’m really sorry.”

“Liz might’ve accepted your excuse,” she says, leaning in close to his face and baring her teeth. “But I won’t be so lenient. Miss practice again and you’re benched.”

Peter gulps and nods, clearly unable to speak. Michelle’s not _serious,_ of course. She knows he’s missing because he’s out helping people, which she can respect. Besides, he’s too strong a competitor to actually bench. However, she needs to scare him if he’s going to take her seriously.

“I gave everyone homework assignments for the rest of the semester. Here’s yours.”

She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small plastic stopwatch, decorated with a Spider-Man logo on the face. Sure she needs to scare him, but that doesn’t mean she can’t mess with him, too.

“A watch?” he asks, running his thumb over the logo.

“I already set you an alarm for five minutes before practice. In case you get caught up with your _Stark Internship_ again.”

She walks off before he can say anything else. The following week, he’s at their table in the library before anyone else.

* * *

Ned catches the flu in November.

It’s not bad, but he misses a week of school. Michelle’s used to seeing Ned at lunch without Peter—she’s not sure how he keeps up with crime during the school day, but sometimes he leaves in the middle of a class period and later that night she’ll see something on the news about Spider-Man saving the day, yet again—but seeing Peter at lunch without Ned is new. It rubs her the wrong way, for some reason, so two days into Ned’s absence, she bridges the gap between her side of the table and theirs.

She doesn’t say anything to Peter as she sets her tray down next to his, but she does see the hairs on his forearm stand up. Interesting.

“MJ,” he says, not really asking a question but not _not_ asking one either.

“Shut up,” she says. “You looked really pathetic all alone over here.”

“Oh.”

She thinks she sees him smile down at his ham and cheese sandwich.

“Are you reading anything good lately?”

She _knows_ she smiles down at her cafeteria-issued chicken parmesan.

“We don’t have to talk, Parker.”

“Oh. Okay.”

When Ned comes back the next week, he literally stops in his tracks before he can even reach the table.

“MJ sits with us now?” he asks, looking between her and Peter.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says. “I forgot to text you about that.”

Ned looks up at the sky before sitting across from Peter.

“I can’t believe I’m being replaced.”

Peter and Ned bicker about whether or not Peter’s replacing Ned with Michelle—“I was gone _five days,_ Peter”—and Michelle wonders why she let herself miss out on this for so long.

* * *

Michelle’s still not sure what to do about knowing Peter is Spider-Man. Sometimes she thinks it’s his secret to tell, and if he wants to do so, he will. Other times, she watches shaky iPhone videos of him getting thrown into a wall by some sort of masked villain or sees him favoring one leg over the other in gym class and wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream _I know! Let me help you!_

Because Michelle’s not tech-savvy like Tony Stark or genetically engineered like Steve Rogers or a certified genius like Bruce Banner, but there’s got to be _something_ she can do to keep Peter from getting hurt so often. Something. Anything.

* * *

The last day before winter break, Ned sits down at the lunch table and says, “Hey, MJ, how do you feel about _Die Hard?”_

“Never seen it,” she says, and both Ned and Peter audibly gasp.

“Never seen,” Ned splutters. “That’s it. It’s decided. We were going to invite you over to Peter’s for our annual _Die Hard_ Christmas marathon but now you don’t have a choice. You’re coming and you’re not allowed to say no.”

Michelle looks at Peter and raises one eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me,” he says, still looking offended. “You’re the one in the wrong here.”

“Okay,” Michelle says, laughing softly. “When should I come over?”

They schedule the marathon for Friday night, and Peter texts her his address.

The night of the marathon, Michelle is unusually nervous. It’s not like she’s going over to Peter’s place for a _date,_ for God’s sakes, Ned is going to be there. But she’s never been to Peter’s before. Hell, she hasn’t gone over to a friend’s house—aside from the occasional party at Liz’s—since she was in elementary school.

What is she supposed to wear to a _Die Hard_ movie marathon? Should she dress like she does for school? Her skinny jeans and boots might get uncomfortable after a while, especially if they’re going to be watching all of the sequels. Should she wear her pajamas? Does she really want to be in her pajamas in front of Peter and Ned? They’re not scandalous by any means, but it still feels intimate in a way that scares her. If she decides on pajamas, should she wear them over there and be the weirdo on the subway or should she change once she arrives? Is she going to have to get mostly-naked in Peter Parker’s bathroom? What if his bathroom is connected to his bedroom? What if the lock is broken? Is she going to have to maneuver her shirt over her head with one arm while the other one holds the door closed? God, what is she going to do if Peter’s in his pajamas? She can admit she maybe has a tiny crush on him, but she is in no way ready to see him looking soft in a pair of plaid flannel pants.

In the end, she decides on her regular clothes with some sweats shoved in her backpack, just in case. That way, if no one is wearing pajamas, she’s good, and if they _are_ wearing pajamas, she can pull her own out and use not wanting to look weird on the subway as an excuse. She’s still not sure what she’ll do about the changing situation—or the Peter one.

It doesn’t matter, though, because once her phone’s GPS brings her to Peter’s apartment building she gets stood up. Michelle’s not sure if that phrase still applies if you’re not on a date—or if you’re going to the person’s home instead of a secondary location—but it’s still embarrassing as hell. She was actually excited to spend some time with Peter and Ned outside of school.

She sits on the ground in front of the door for fifteen minutes, just in case Peter is in the shower or something and hasn’t seen her three _I’m here_ texts. Once it hits 7:40, she’s sure the night is a bust. She’s just about to stand up and head back to the subway when a woman walks up to the front door.

“Hey there,” the woman says, and Michelle can see in the light that it’s May Parker, Peter’s unreasonably beautiful aunt and legal guardian. “You’re Michelle, right? I remember you from decathlon tournaments, but I don’t think we’ve ever officially met.”

“Yeah, that’s me. MJ works, too.”

“Ok, MJ. What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

“Oh,” Michelle says, registering the temperature for what feels like the first time. Her cheeks have been burning with embarrassment for so long she stopped feeling the bite of the wind.

“Are you here for Peter?” May asks.

“Yeah, but he, uh—“

“He’s always forgetting to answer my texts, too, don’t worry. Come on in.”

May shifts her paper grocery bag into the crook of her arm and opens the door with a key, holding it for Michelle to pass through first. The building is a walk-up, and Peter apparently lives on the top floor. When they reach the top of the stairs, May unlocks the apartment door with a different key, once again letting Michelle go first.

The apartment is bigger than Michelle expected, but still small compared to her own. It’s cozier, though, and filled with candles, throw pillows, art pieces, and more family photos than she can count. The kitchen is made up of a hodge podge of different appliance brands and styles, unlike Michelle’s cold, cookie-cutter, stainless steel one. The apartment feels lived in—loved—in a way Michelle can only imagine. She feels at home already.

May sets her grocery bag on the counter and walks down a short hallway, disappearing from Michelle’s sight.

“I’ll just grab Peter. He’s probably—Oh,” she says, cutting herself and fumbling for a moment. “He must be out doing, uh—I’m sure he’ll be home soon, he’s just—“

“I know Peter’s Spider-Man,” Michelle blurts.

She doesn’t even realize she’s said it out loud until May’s head pops out from behind the wall.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God,” May breathes, coming out fully from the hallway and leaning over the kitchen counter, her arms braced on either side.

“Wait, what?”

“I’ve never had to lie for him before,” May says. “The only person who ever comes over is Ned, and Ned’s known longer than I have.”

“Ned knows?”

“I’m not sure for how long, but yeah. He’s usually over here doing something in Peter’s room while Peter’s on patrol. Something about being in a chair.”

“Being the guy in the chair?” Michelle asks, remembering a phrase she’d once heard while eavesdropping on Peter and Ned at lunch. She thought they were talking about movies or video games—she hadn’t put two and two together quite yet.

“Yeah, that’s it,” May says. She sits down on a barstool and motions for Michelle to take the other one, but Michelle is frozen in place. “So what do you do for Peter?”

“I don’t—“ Michelle starts. “Peter doesn’t know I know.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“I figured it out on my own.”

“That boy,” May says, putting her head in her hands. “How he managed to keep it a secret from me for so long I’ll never understand.”

“Peter’s not very good at keeping secrets,” Michelle says, finally perching on the second bar stool. She doesn’t settle in completely—could still bolt for the front door if she really felt like it—but she’s starting to feel a bit more comfortable with May. She hadn’t realized how nice it would feel to tell someone what she knows.

“No, he’s not.”

“It’s his face,” Michelle says, and May bursts into laughter.

“It’s absolutely his face,” she says. “I could always tell when he was lying to me as a kid just by looking at him. Granted, it was usually about sneaking cookies before dinner instead of fighting Captain America in Germany on a school night but…”

Michelle was right about that one, too. She’s about to go through her mental list of Spider-Man battles to see what else May knows about when something else crosses her mind.

“May,” she starts, and the other woman’s laughter subsides. “How do you just let Peter go off and fight people that could kill him? Like, how do you deal with that?”

“Well, first off, I had a very long conversation with Tony Stark about what exactly would happen to him if Peter didn’t come home safe and sound after every battle.”

“What did you tell him?” Michelle asks, perking up.

“I don’t like to repeat it word-for-word, but let’s just say it involves one of his favorite body parts and one of those hot dog slicers.”

Michelle and May crack up at that, Michelle even wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. What she wouldn’t give to see Tony Stark quivering beneath the fury of May Parker.

“It’s taken me some time, but I’ve learned to have faith in Peter. I may not understand everything about his condition, but he’s stronger than he used to be. It takes more to hurt him, as much as I hate the thought of it. And on top of that, he’s got people looking out for him. Tony. Ned. The AI Tony put in his suit. And now you, I suppose.”

And now Michelle.

Michelle doesn’t know what to think about that. What could she do, if Peter got hurt? If it came down to it, could she help him in the same way Tony Stark could? She’s honestly not sure.

She doesn’t have a chance to voice her concerns before the front door to the apartment opens and Peter and Ned walk through.

“Oh,” Peter says. “Hey MJ.”

“Peter Parker,” May says, getting up from the bar stool and going over to swat her nephew on the arm. “What have I told you about checking your phone?”

“What?” he asks, rubbing his arm and glaring at his aunt.

“I texted you like an hour ago, dumbass,” Michelle says, without as much irritation as she would have had before May brought her inside.

“Oh, shit—“

“Peter Parker!”

“Sorry, May! And sorry, MJ. We got hung up at the store.”

“We got popcorn!” Ned says, finally joining the conversation. “And some candy. We got those Red Vines you like so much, MJ.”

“Oh,” Michelle says, taken aback. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t remember ever telling either of them that Red Vines are her favorite candy. She eats them at school sometimes, but she didn’t realize they were paying her any attention.

“May,” Peter says, putting on a voice Michelle can immediately tell has gotten him out of trouble countless times before. “Can you help us set up the DVD player and the futon?”

Michelle takes the Red Vines from Ned and follows Peter into the living room. She sits next to Peter on the futon, while Ned takes the armchair in the corner. No one changes into pajamas, but Michelle does take off her boots, and Peter lets her shove her toes under the warmth of his thigh.

She doesn’t hate _Die Hard_ as much as she expected to.

* * *

After their conversation, Michelle and May develop a friendship, of sorts. It’s a little weird, since May is pretty much Peter’s mom, but it’s not weird enough to stop Michelle from texting May when Peter does something dumb, or to stop May from sending baked goods to Michelle through Peter. That really freaks him out, which makes it all the more enjoyable.

“Stop trying to date my aunt!” Peter tells her one day during lunch, as she’s unwrapping a homemade brownie.

“I’m not trying to date your aunt,” she says through a laugh. She almost wishes she was, just to make Peter get flustered like this more often.

“I expected this from Ned—“

“Hey!” Ned exclaims.

“—not from you, MJ.”

“Seriously, Peter,” Michelle says, lowering her voice and swallowing her laughs as best as she can. “I’m not trying to date your aunt. She just likes me because I’m a girl and we both think you’re dumb.”

That placates him—even though it should insult him—and he stops complaining about Michelle’s relationship with May. He never stops getting offended when May packs chocolate chip cookies for Michelle and not for him, though.

* * *

In February, there’s a Valentine’s Day dance. It’s a big deal for the sophomores, since they’re not allowed to attend prom. People do big proposals, and there’s an online registry so none of the girls show up wearing the same dress. Michelle doesn’t think much of it—she’ll probably just go with the AcaDec team like she did for Homecoming—until Ned announces at lunch that he’s planning to ask Betty Brant.

“What?” Michelle asks. “Since when do you like Betty Brant?”

“I don’t,” Ned says, too fast, “but everyone’s taking a date. Abe asked Cindy before practice yesterday.”

“Oh, god,” Michelle groans, “is that why they kept giggling the whole time? That better stop after the dance or I’m kicking them both off the team.”

“We can’t have less than eight people,” Peter reminds her.

“Fine,” she says. “That better stop after the dance or I’m kicking one out and splitting them up.”

“Who are you going to take, Peter?” Ned asks.

“Oh,” he says, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You and MJ should go together,” Ned suggests.

“What?!” Michelle snaps at the same moment Peter says, “Okay.”

“What?!” Michelle repeats, feeling like she’s five seconds behind the conversation. She can’t catch up.

“Oh, sorry, MJ,” Ned says. “Do you already have a date to the dance?”

“No,” she says.

“Cool,” Peter says. “Wanna go together then?”

He doesn’t look nervous or excited or anything other than blasé about the thought of taking her as his Valentine’s Day date. Seriously, his _Valentine’s Day_ date. She can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed. Mostly she’s just confused.

She knows she has a crush on Peter. She knows she’s had one for months—before she knew about him being Spider-man, even before him _becoming_ Spider-Man. He’s smart and funny and kind and cuter than she’ll ever admit. Usually she can push her crush to the side and be satisfied with their friendship. It’s fun hanging out at his apartment with him and Ned, them playing with Legos and her sketching them playing with Legos. She likes sitting next to him at lunch, sometimes sharing their snacks or letting him have a few sips of her tea. His face almost always scrunches up in disgust once the flavor hits him, but it’s nice nevertheless. So what if she sometimes wishes she could give him a quick kiss goodbye when it’s time to head back to her own apartment? So what if she sometimes wishes she and Peter could go to the movies without Ned and hold hands and spend more time looking at each other than at the screen? So what if she sometimes wishes Peter would ask her to the Valentine’s Day dance for real, with some elaborate proposal that’s way too public for her to say anything but yes?

“Sure,” she tells him. “I don’t really care either way.”

* * *

Betty says yes to Ned’s surprisingly private proposal (heart shaped chocolates and a hand-made poster at the end of AcaDec practice), and the next day, she and Cindy drag Michelle out to go shopping for dresses. There’s no official dress code for the dance, but it’s an unspoken rule that you can only wear black, white, red, or pink. At the first store, Michelle finds herself drifting towards the black dresses.

“Absolutely not,” Betty says, gripping Michelle’s wrist a little too tight and pulling her to the other side of the color-coded racks. “There is no way you’re going to the dance with _Peter Parker_ in anything but a red dress.”

“We’re not—“ Michelle starts. “It’s not like a real date. We’re just going together because everyone else is.”

“Sure,” Cindy says, dragging out the _u_ sound and rolling her eyes.

“I’m serious,” Michelle says. “He only asked because Ned suggested it.”

“Well, thank God for Ned Leeds,” Betty says, and Cindy giggles and pokes her in the side. Huh. Michelle wonders if Betty’s as _not into Ned_ as Ned is _not into Betty_.

They shove almost a dozen dresses into Michelle’s arms and push her into the first available dressing room. The first eight dresses are definite no’s, either too tight or too loose or too revealing or too sparkly. Michelle is tall and skinny, which clearly is not a body type these dress designers had in mind during the design process. The ninth dress, however, might be a winner.

It’s made of a soft, shiny, silk fabric that drapes over Michelle’s body, but doesn’t cling to it. It has a high neckline but a low back—it covers what Michelle wants hidden and shows off what she could maybe be proud of. Miraculously, it touches the floor instead of cutting off at her ankles. The dress makes Michelle feel elegant, sophisticated, beautiful.

When she pulls back the curtain, Betty and Cindy immediately gasp. Clearly, this is the one.

* * *

Michelle isn’t sure if Betty blabbed to Ned who blabbed to Peter, or if Peter’s powers randomly include mind-reading, but when she gets to the lunch table the day before the dance, Peter has laid out a couple of Red Vines at her usual seat to spell _V-Day?_ Red Vines don’t curve easily, though, so it looks more like Roman numerals than anything else. Michelle gives Peter a small smile and hopes he takes it as a _yes_ —and a _thank you_.

* * *

Michelle’s mom is out of town (again) the weekend of the dance, and she’s not really sure how to get ready for something so formal. She decides to text May.

**MJ [3:41]:** hi may can i ask you a favor? the valentine’s day dance is today and i don’t know what to do with my hair and my mom’s out of town and i think i just need another girl’s opinion can you help me?

**May [3:43]:** Of course baby!!! Come on over

Michelle zips up the garment bag the checkout girl put her dress into, grabs the few hygiene products she owns (literally only deodorant, moisturizer, and a toothbrush), and takes the subway over to the Parker’s. May lets her in as soon as she presses the buzzer, and the apartment door is open when she reaches the top floor. May ushers her in with one hand on her shoulder, the other hand removing the garment bag from its place over Michelle’s arm.

“I kicked Peter out of the house for a few hours, so you can surprise him with your big reveal.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Michelle says. “It’s not even a real date.”

“Now you listen to me, Michelle,” May says, putting both hands on her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a real date or not. Believe me when I say that putting on a pretty dress and shocking the words out of a boy’s mouth is one of—if not _the—_ best things about being a teenage girl.”

“Okay,” Michelle says, mostly because she doesn’t know how else to respond.

“Now, is there a look you want to go for or do I have free reign?”

“Uh, free reign sounds good.”

“Okay,” May says. “You go take a shower in my bathroom while I steam your dress, and then we’ll get started on your hair.”

Michelle does as she’s told, and when she steps out of the glass-walled shower, there’s a cozy pink bathrobe hanging on the hook over the door. She slips her arms into the sleeves—just barely too short—and ties the sash tightly around her waist. After brushing her teeth and moisturizing her face, she walks into the kitchen, where May has plugged in a hair straightener.

“Come sit down, baby,” May says, patting one of the barstools. She’s placed a throw pillow on top of it for comfort, which Michelle is grateful for. She has the feeling this is going to take a while.

“That’s a very pretty dress you’ve picked out,” May says as she pulls a comb gently through Michelle’s curls.

“Thanks,” Michelle says. “Betty and Cindy helped me pick it out.”

“Betty… that’s the girl Ned’s going with, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, be honest with me, MJ,” May says. “Is she good enough for our Ned?”

Michelle takes a moment to consider. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

“Well, no,” Michelle says, chuckling. “She’s nice and smart and helps with the school announcements. She’s like a little Liz, only blonder.”

“Okay, good,” May says.

They stop talking for a bit after that. May turns on the radio while she straightens Michelle’s hair, and Michelle can see her dancing slightly (hips moving but arms totally still) whenever she crosses to either side of Michelle. Straightening her hair takes forever, and Michelle decides to only do it in the future for very special occasions. There’s no way she could go through this for anything less.

“Done,” May announces, an hour later. “Go take a look at yourself.”

Michelle goes to the closest bathroom—Peter’s—and looks at herself in the mirror. She barely recognizes the girl she sees. Her hair is inches longer than normal and shinier than she thought possible. May has pulled most of it behind her shoulders, but the shorter pieces fall against her collarbones. Michelle reaches a hand up to gently touch some of the strands.

“You like it?” May asks, leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah,” Michelle says, surprised. “I really do.”

“I know you’re not one for makeup, but I have some jewelry you could borrow, if you’d like.”

Michelle thinks about the jewelry boxes in her mother’s bathroom that she was never allowed to go through as a child, the pieces inside far too expensive to risk chubby fingers tarnishing or—god forbid—breaking.

“I’d like that.”

“Put on your dress,” May instructs, pointing at the garment bag hanging from the shower rod. “I’ll bring my box out to the kitchen.”

Michelle unzips the garment bag and runs her fingers over the freshly steamed fabric. Somehow, her dress is even softer and smoother than it had been in the store. She takes off the pink robe and replaces it with her gown, taking a moment to appreciate the way her straight hair falls against the open back design. When she walks out to the kitchen, May is pulling necklaces and bracelets out of a small wooden box, coated on the inside with deep burgundy velvet.

“Take your pick,” she tells Michelle.

Michelle’s eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of gold hoops, a beautiful bangle no wider than a few millimeters, and a bracelet that has gold roses interspersed on the chain. She pokes the earrings through her piercing holes while May slides the bangle all the way up to her right bicep.

“Ben gave this to me,” May says, handling the rose bracelet with care. Michelle stops breathing for a moment. She’s never heard Peter or May mention Ben before. “Our first anniversary—the summer before college. He saved up all his paychecks to afford it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Michelle says.

“I’m glad you chose it.”

May wraps the bracelet around Michelle’s left wrist, clasping it with an ease that only comes with years of practice. Michelle wonders if her father ever saved paychecks to buy her mother something this beautiful before he left her. Probably not. And even if he did, her mother would never let her wear it to a school dance.

“Peter will be home any minute now,” May says, once Michelle is completely accessorized. “I sent him to Ned’s to get dressed and told him to be back at 7:30, which… was six minutes ago.”

Of course, he’s late. Regardless, May shoos her into her bedroom and closes the door so as not to ruin the surprise. Michelle doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. Or, she’s trying not to, at least. Part of her hopes Peter will see her in her new dress, with her new hair, wearing his aunt’s jewelry and immediately confess his love for her. Another part of her hopes to God a _makeover_ isn’t what convinces Peter she’s an eligible option for a girlfriend. It’s all very confusing.

She hears the front door open. May and Peter talk for a few moments, and then all she hears is Peter groaning _May_ over and over again, followed by the sound of soft slaps. Michelle would bet one million dollars that May is squeezing Peter’s cheeks and cooing over how handsome he looks, while he tries unsuccessfully to swat her hands away.

“Come on out, MJ,” May calls, and Michelle opens the door.

Whatever Michelle was hoping or expecting, it wasn’t this: Peter, standing in the kitchen in a tux, one red rose pinned to his lapel and another inside a clear box, barely held in his hand as he stares at Michelle, mouth ajar and eyes wide. God, May was right. This has got to be the greatest feeling in the world.

“Wow, MJ,” Peter stammers. “You, uh, you look really… nice.”

May whacks him on the arm and says, “Really, Peter? Nice? That’s what you’re going with?”

Peter clears his throat. “You look beautiful,” he corrects.

“Thanks,” Michelle says, feeling shy in a way she never has before. “You look good, too.”

“Alright, kids,” May says, clapping her hands together. “Let me get a few pictures before Ned’s mom picks you up.”

Peter crosses over to Michelle and shoves the box containing the rose into her stomach.

“Peter,” May hisses, “you’re supposed to put it on her yourself.”

Peter takes a moment to glance up at the ceiling and compose himself before removing the rose corsage from the box. Michelle holds out her right wrist and tries not to shiver when Peter’s fingers gently slide it on.

“Happy now?” he asks May.

“Yes, very, now look like you like each other.”

Michelle’s cheeks warm at that, and she thinks she sees the tips of Peter’s ears turn a shade of pink, too. Regardless, he puts his arm around her waist and the two of them smile for May until the buzzer for downstairs goes off.

“Looks like that’s Ned!” Peter says, quickly pulling away from Michelle and hurrying towards the door. “Gotta go, May, thanks for the pictures!”

Michelle gives May a small wave as she leaves the apartment and gets a thumbs-up in response. As they walk down the stairs—Michelle with one hand on the banister and Peter obviously hovering nearby—Peter apologizes for his aunt.

“It’s ok, Peter,” Michelle says. “It’s nice having a mom to fawn over you once in a while.”

“She’s not my mom,” he groans.

“I know, dumbass, but she’s close enough.”

Peter drops it when they reach Ned’s mom’s car. He holds the door open for her to climb in next to Betty, who looks very pretty in her white dress and red lipstick.

“Punch it,” Ned tells his mom. Michelle rolls her eyes at the _Star Trek_ reference, and Peter laughs. Of course.

The gymnasium is decorated much like it was for Homecoming, only with a stricter color palette. The red balloons are all shaped like hearts, and the tablecloths are adorned with tacky Valentine’s Day patterns. There’s a photo booth in the corner with handheld props and a professional photographer. And by professional photographer, Michelle means the yearbook teacher, looking bored out of his mind.

The four of them hook up with the rest of the AcaDec team almost immediately. The dance is honestly pretty much the same as Homecoming, except they’re all in fancier outfits. Well, it’s like Homecoming in that they all stand in a circle and completely fail at dancing to the actual beat of the songs. It’s not like Homecoming at all in that Peter doesn’t run off to fight his date’s supervillain father. In Peter’s defense, though, she hasn’t seen her dad in years, so there’s no way he’s trying to support her and her mother through illegal weapons trafficking.

Each time a slow song comes on, Peter and Michelle make deer-in-headlights eye contact, and one of them suggests getting another round of punch. When they finish their cups before the song ends, they go back for refills. They’ve had at least seven cups each by the time Ned finds them, sitting at one of the tables with the terrible tablecloths. Michelle is sprawled out in her chair, fist pumping to LMFAO’s “Shots,” and Peter is completely slumped over, trying to sing along.

“Oh, no,” Ned says.

“Hey, Leeds,” Michelle says, closing one eye and squinting at Ned through the other. He’s unusually blurry tonight. “What’s up, dude?”

“Flash,” Ned shouts, and then Flash is standing next to him, looking at Michelle and Peter and trying not to laugh, which Michelle thinks is pretty rude. Ned points at all of the empty cups on the table. “That punch wasn’t spiked was it?”

“Oh, it was _absolutely_ spiked,” Flash says. He takes a picture—with the flash, ugh—and disappears even quicker than he appeared in the first place.

“I’m going to call May,” Ned says, and then he disappears, too.

The music changes to something much more synth-heavy, and Michelle wonders for a moment if she’s living inside an 80s teen romcom. She recognizes the song, knows the beat and the lyrics, she just can’t _place_ it until Peter rises from the dead and says, “Oh my God, it’s the _Sky High_ song.”

And it is. It absolutely is the _Sky High_ song—the one at the end when Layla and Kurt Russell’s kid (what was his name again?) are slow dancing while floating in the sky, because they’ve finally declared their love for one another.

“MJ, we gotta dance to this,” Peter says, sticking his hand out for her to hold. For some reason beyond her understanding, she goes along with it, and they end up slow dancing in the middle of a crowd of people dancing normally.

Peter’s hands are on her waist, his fingertips just barely brushing the skin of her back that’s exposed. She’s too tall to put her arms around his neck comfortably, so she wraps them around his torso and grips his jacket. Michelle rests her chin on his shoulder and leans her head against his, and they move in a slow circle. This is the warmest she’s ever been.

Ned interrupts them sometime later—how long, Michelle has no idea.

“May’s outside,” he tells them, taking their hands and pulling them behind him. Michelle tries to wave goodbye to Betty—why isn’t Betty leaving with them?—but Ned’s moving too fast, and she’s getting a little dizzy.

May is waiting outside her car, arms crossed, and she rushes forward the moment she sees them.

“Peter Parker,” she says, holding his face in her hands. “Are you drunk?”

“Huh?” he asks. “What, no, of course not, we only had punch.”

Punch. Michelle remembers Betty spitting out spiked punch, and playing keep away with Abe, and leaving Michelle to look after Liz alone—except it was Cindy and it was Homecoming. Punch. God, she chugged spiked punch, didn’t she?

“Get in the car,” May orders.

Peter climbs in the passenger seat, and Ned helps Michelle get into the back without stepping on the hem of her dress. Michelle starts the drive looking out the window, but the lights are moving too quickly, so she closes her eyes to keep from throwing up. Peter isn’t so lucky. He makes some sort of face or noise or attempt at words—something that’s enough to convince May to pull over on the side of the street and help him throw up into a bush instead of his own lap.

Ned and Michelle don’t watch. Peter deserves his privacy.

“I’m sorry you accidentally got drunk,” Ned says after a few moments of silence.

“It’s okay,” Michelle says, her eyes still closed. “Thanks for looking out for me. For us.”

“Of course,” Ned says. “You guys are my friends.”

Michelle feels a sudden burst of warmth for Ned, and maybe that’s what compels her to say, “I know Peter’s Spider-Man.”

“You—what?”

“I’ve known for a few months, actually.”

“What—how?”

“You guys aren’t that subtle.”

“Aw, man,” Ned says, “Peter’s going to be so disappointed.”

Michelle opens her eyes.

“Why would he be disappointed?”

Ned never gets a chance to answer her, though, because Peter and May get back into the car, and a few minutes later, May is helping her get into her building’s elevator without stumbling. Just before she presses the button for Michelle’s floor, she makes very direct eye contact with Michelle and says, “Drink a whole cup of water before you go to sleep.”

Michelle nods, May leaves, and the elevator doors close.

* * *

The next morning—or, afternoon, rather—Michelle wakes up on her living room couch wearing a Midtown Tech sweatshirt and pajama pants that are inside out. Her fancy dress is in a heap on the floor a few feet away, and she’s still got May’s gold bracelets on her arms, even though the bangle has slid down from her bicep to her wrist. Her head aches, and she’s thankful for the blackout curtains her mother had installed in the living room.

Thank God school dances are never on a school night.

Michelle heats up a can of soup and gulps down four glasses of water in a row. They make her feel better than when she woke up, but not good enough to leave the apartment, so she settles in for a lazy day. She wraps herself in her favorite blanket and finds a TV channel that’s playing reruns of _Brooklyn 99_.

Around sunset, her program is interrupted by a breaking news broadcast: Spider-Man is battling a half-man/half-octopus hybrid, only his tentacles are made of metal and he’s at least twice the size of Peter. There’s helicopter footage of Spider-Man webbing one of the tentacles just before another one grabs him out of the sky mid-swing and throws him down the city block. His landing knocks up a cloud of dust. The camera stays on the place he fell for a good thirty seconds, but Spider-Man never reappears. Michelle drops her glass, and it shatters on the hardwood floor. She doesn’t notice. She’s already pulling out her phone and opening the Find My Friends app. Peter’s location is off—of _course—_ but Ned’s isn’t, and he’s at Peter’s apartment. She calls him.

“MJ, now’s not really a good time,” Ned says, sounding out of breath, even though he’s not the one in the middle of a losing battle.

“I’m watching the news and some guy with metal tentacles—“

“Doc Ock, yeah he sucks—“

“Ned, he just threw Peter into a building and Peter didn’t get up. What do you know?”

“Not much more than you, MJ,” Ned says, “I’m trying everything I can think of.”

“I’m coming over,” she says, already pulling on her boots and sticking her arms through her red-orange quilted bomber jacket. “See you in ten.”

Michelle hangs up the phone, grips the pocket knife she keeps in this jacket, and runs to the nearest subway station as fast as she can.

Ned buzzes her into the apartment as soon as she arrives. She immediately makes her way to Peter’s room, where Ned is sitting at his desk in front of two different laptops.

“Where’s May?” Michelle asks.

“She’s at work. Hopefully she’s not watching the news. She’s gunna _freak.”_

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

Michelle leans over Ned’s shoulder, but she’s not really sure what she’s looking at on his computers. She says as such.

“Okay,” Ned explains, “this one is connected to the AI in Peter’s suit. She communicates through code when stuff gets really bad, but she’s not saying anything now.”

“She?”

“Yeah, her name is Karen, she’s super cool. Anyway, I’m trying to use her to find Peter’s location.”

“What about this Doc Ock guy?” Michelle asks.

“Peter’s stopped a couple of kidnappings the last few weeks. We didn’t think anything of them—just thought they were standard scum of New York things, right? Turns out those guys work for Doc Ock, and he’s been experimenting on people. Usually people no one but Spider-Man would notice were missing, you know?”

Michelle doesn’t know what to say. The whole time she’s known Peter was Spider-Man, she’s been imagining him catching bicycle thieves, webbing minor bank robbers, maybe stopping a mugging or two. Even with Liz’s dad, she figured it was coincidence and a bit of good luck. Now Peter’s fighting an honest to god _supervillain,_ and he’s _losing._ She feels sick.

“I found him!” Ned shouts, pumping both arms into the air and spinning in the desk chair.

“Where is he?” Michelle asks, rushing back to his side.

“Some warehouse in Brooklyn. Man, why is it always a warehouse?” Ned turns to Michelle and explains, “Liz’s dad was in a warehouse, too, and then he dropped it on top of Peter.”

“Oh my God,” Michelle says, sinking down into a crouch and pressing her fists against her closed eyes.

Peter Parker is in a warehouse in Brooklyn—even though he was fighting in Midtown—with some guy who’s got mechanical legs, and apparently the last time he was in a warehouse, it collapsed on top of him. Amazing. Michelle can’t believe this is happening.

“I’m gunna go find him,” Michelle says, standing up and looking for anything in Peter’s room that might be of use.

“What? MJ, that’s insane.”

“Look, you didn’t see that news footage, Ned. Doc Ock threw Peter across an entire city block. May said he can handle getting hurt better than the rest of us, but there’s no way he’s getting out of there by himself. Especially if this guy likes experimenting on people. Someone has to help him.”

“Fine,” Ned sighs, “but I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Michelle says. “You need to stay here and give me directions and keep working on turning Karen back on. If she’s one of Tony Stark’s AIs, she’ll be able to help more than you and I can.”

Michelle pulls her headphones out of her jacket pocket and drops the wire down the front of her shirt. She puts the earbud closest to the microphone in her right ear, and plugs the headphones into her phone, which she sticks in her pocket after dialing Ned’s phone.

“Stay on the line with me,” she says. “It’ll be like we have in-ear communicators.”

“God, that’s so cool,” Ned practically squeals. “Wait—here.” He opens a desk drawer and grabs a Swiss army knife, pressing it into Michelle’s palm. “In case you need to pick some locks.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Michelle says, and then she leaves.

Ned gives her directions: a subway ride with two transfers, a few blocks going straight, a left turn here, a right turn there. And then she’s standing in front of a dark building that is, according to Karen, where Peter is being held. It looks abandoned, but Michelle supposes that’s the point.

“Any chance you’ve got blueprints on this place?” Michelle asks. “What’s the best way in?”

“Let me see what I can find,” Ned says. There are a few moments of silence. “There’s a storm cellar on the left side. Hopefully it won’t have armed guards or an alarm or anything.”

Michelle hadn’t even considered the idea of guards, alarms, or guns. She’d been planning on breaking in, grabbing Peter, and hopefully never running into Doc Ock. There’s a chance she’s in over her head. It doesn’t matter, though; Peter needs her help. Like May said—and now Michelle.

She finds the storm cellar easily enough, and the Swiss army knife makes it easy to pick the padlock holding it shut. She climbs down the stairs as quietly as she can and uses her phone as a flashlight when she reaches a long hallway.

“I’m in,” she whispers to Ned. “I’m going to try a bunch of doors until I find Peter.”

“Be careful.”

The first few doors she comes across are locked and covered in dust, so they probably haven’t been opened in a while. She climbs another set of stairs and finds more dusty doors. This continues until she’s in what Ned calls the main foyer. Michelle spots a set of double doors, one of which is ajar. This has to be the place Doc Ock’s keeping Peter. She slips through the crack and—there he is.

The first thing she notices is that his mask is on the ground. He’s tied to a chair in the center of the room, and the moon shining in through the skylight is the only light source. She doesn’t see any injuries, but the suit could be covering them up. His head is limp, lolling to one side.

_Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,_ Michelle thinks.

She approaches him quietly, telling Ned that she’s found him. When she’s close enough to touch his face, she does, holding his head in both her hands the way May did the night before when she asked him if he was drunk. Is that why he lost this fight so badly? Was he still sore and hungover, like Michelle had been? Or was Doc Ock _really_ that strong and dangerous?

“Peter,” she whispers, running her thumb across his cheek, and shaking his head lightly. “Peter, wake up, come on, we gotta go.”

His eyelashes flutter, and he drops his head back so he can look at her.

“MJ?” he slurs, voice softer than even her own.

She sees the moment he recognizes her—recognizes that Michelle isn’t supposed to know he’s Spider-Man and that she sure as hell isn’t supposed to be rescuing him from a supervillain’s lair. He’s much more alert after that.

“MJ, what are you doing here?” he hisses. “You gotta get out of here, it’s not safe.”

“I know it’s not safe,” she says, already moving to saw at the ropes restraining him with the knife. “That’s why I’m here.”

“How did you know I was here? How did you—“

She watches his eyes grow wide, sees his mouth open to shout her name in slow motion; she knows what’s about to happen just seconds before it does, and then suddenly there’s a metal arm clenched around her stomach and she’s flying through the air until—

Michelle slams into the brick wall and immediately falls to the ground.

She’s not really sure what happens after that. She thinks she hears her name—her real name, not her nickname—but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? People don’t call her Michelle anymore. And how would Doc Ock know her name, anyway? They’ve literally never met except for just now when he threw her against a wall, and she did hit a wall, didn’t she? That’s why she hurts so bad, right? Her whole body is sore—especially her ribs—but nothing hurts as bad as her head, and when she slowly reaches a hand up there to touch it, her fingers come away warm and red and—that’s blood. She’s got a head wound. Great.

Whatever is happening around her is incredibly loud. Her vision is too blurry to see what’s going on—she just sees blurs of red and blue and a really large shadow, one with more arms than make sense. Maybe she’s still drunk from the night before. That must be why her vision is blurry and she’s seeing double. She should call Ned or Peter or May to come pick her up. It’s not safe for a woman to walk home drunk at night in New York City. She reaches for her phone, but before she can make any calls, she notices her fingers. They’re warm and red and—that’s blood. Who’s bleeding? Is Michelle bleeding?

She thinks she passes out after that. When she comes to, Peter is leaning over her, looking panicked as he repeats her name over and over again. She can’t hear what he’s saying, but she recognizes the movement of his lips. _Michelle. Michelle. Michelle._ That’s weird. He usually calls her MJ. She lifts a hand to smooth the crease between his eyebrows and sees that her fingers are warm and red and—that’s blood. Huh. She wonders whose it is.

“Michelle, come on,” she finally hears Peter say. “Come on, you gotta get up, we gotta go, come on, Michelle, please—“

And maybe it’s the desperation in his voice as he says that last word—come on, Michelle, _please—_ or maybe she’s just been hit with a burst of adrenaline, but she’s somehow able to sit up with only a little bit of help. Peter promptly crushes her to death with a superhuman hug.

“I can’t believe you did that, Michelle,” he says and—is he crying? “That was so stupid, why did you do that?”

She pulls away from the hug, but her head feels too heavy to hold up on her own, so she leans her forehead against Peter’s, even though it’s sweaty and grimy and altogether disgusting.

“You needed me,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, just holds her head in his hands—mirroring her from earlier when she was mirroring May—and keeps their foreheads pressed tightly together. She thinks he might be laughing. Or crying. Or both. Probably both.

Then he lifts her up, his hands under her armpits, and she sways the moment she’s standing on her two feet. He’s got some rope in his hands—where did that come from?—and he starts pulling it through the belt loops of her skinny jeans.

“This is just in case, Michelle,” he says, not stopping with the rope. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just a precautionary measure, no biggie.”

Once he’s satisfied with the knot at the button of her jeans, he starts wrapping the rope around himself—over his shoulders, around his waist, crisscrossing and double-knotting every few wraps. He grabs her face again, makes sure she’s looking straight at him.

“I need you to hold on as tight as you can, okay? We’re swinging home, because it’s the fastest way, and I hope you’re not scared of heights.”

Michelle’s not sure if she’s scared of heights or not. Either way, she’s about to find out.

She jumps up and wraps her legs around Peter’s waist, her arms around his shoulders. She tucks her head into the crook of his neck because it hurts and it’s heavy and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it up.

And then they’re swinging.

Michelle doesn’t see a whole lot of the city, but she hears the wind howl as they move through the air. She feels the cold nip at the bits of skin that are exposed, because it’s February, and they’re higher up than people are really supposed to be this time of year. There’s a chance she passes out again, because it only feels like they’re swinging for a few minutes, which makes no sense. There’s no way Peter can swing from Brooklyn all the way to Queens in a matter of minutes. Right?

They stop for a moment, and then Michelle hears Peter tap on something—a window maybe—and then she’s being passed from Peter to Ned. Michelle forgot about Ned. Wasn’t she on the phone with him or something? She can’t really remember. Oh, hey, May’s here, too.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!” May shouts, even as she oh so delicately helps Ned set Michelle on Peter’s bottom bunk. “What the hell is wrong with you? Bringing your friends—“

Michelle doesn’t know what makes May stop mid-scold, but it must be a pretty big deal. It’s hard to calm May down once she gets on a roll. She hears some sniffling, a hiccup or two, and then May’s voice, murmuring, “I know, baby, it’s okay, you did the right thing, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Michelle probably ruins the moment, because she rolls over onto her side and throws up on the carpet.

“Peter, honey,” May says, “go grab some towels and a bucket.”

“Should we take her to a hospital?” Ned asks.

“I’ll call Tony,” May says. “Faster service and whoever he sends won’t ask questions.”

“I already tried Tony. He didn’t pick up.”

“He will for me,” May says.

May crouches in front of Michelle while the phone rings, brushing her hair behind her hair. Whoever she’s calling must pick up, because she starts speaking in a quiet but stern tone, never breaking the soothing motion. Michelle is grateful. This must be what it’s like to have a mother—Peter should be more appreciative.

“Here,” Peter says, as if Michelle had summoned him with her thoughts alone.

“Ned, honey,” May says, “can you help me clean this up?”

“Sure, May.”

“What can I do?” Peter asks.

“You can go take a shower—no, don’t even try to argue with me. There’s nothing you can do here, we’re just waiting for a doctor. Go take a shower. You’re not doing anyone any good tracking dirt and blood all over my carpet.”

Peter must do as she says, because she doesn’t hear him say anything else. Maybe Michelle falls asleep or maybe May’s touch just soothes her into a zen-like state. Regardless, sometime later, there’s a woman Michelle doesn’t recognize shining a light in her eyes.

“Concussion, for sure,” the woman says. “Good news is the head wound’s stopped bleeding, and they always look worse than they actually are. I can put in some stitches for good measure, if you’d like.”

“Please,” a man says, and he almost sounds like—

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark. After that, the best thing for her will be sleep. Lots of it.”

“Hear that, kid?” Mr. Stark— _Mr. Stark?—_ says. “She’s gunna be fine.”

Michelle falls back asleep again. This time when she wakes up, she’s a bit more coherent than before. Not by much, but she can identify the fact that she’s in Peter’s bedroom—on his bottom bunk, specifically—and she’s pretty sure she tried to save him from a supervillain’s lair. _Tried_ being the operative word in that sentence.

Peter himself is asleep next to her, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor, his head resting on the mattress, and his hand almost cradling the back of her skull, like he’d fallen asleep in the middle of stroking her hair with his fingers. There are a few bruises high on his cheekbones and a cut on one of his temples. She reaches out to trace the wound, and at the first press of her fingers against his skin, his eyes open. He sees she’s awake and immediately shifts to sit on his knees so he can lean over her.

“Hi,” he breathes, eyes roaming over her face as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Hi,” Michelle says, holding out a palm for Peter to lean his head into. He does.

“You really scared me,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” she says, letting her fingers tangle themselves in the curls of his hair.

She’s not sure what possesses her to do it—maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her or the fact that she honest to god almost died tonight or maybe even the fact that Peter might’ve, if she hadn’t shown up. Whatever it is, it gives her enough courage and forward momentum to press her lips against his for the briefest of moments before her head throbs and she has to rest it back against the pillow. (Peter’s pillow; it smells like him and she’s positive he took it from his top bunk and slid it under her skull at some point in the night.)

He freezes, like he’s buffering, which is so cute it annoys her. She can practically see the questions running through his head, see him analyzing every interaction they’ve ever had, weighing the pros and cons of where to go from here. Peter’s the smartest kid at their school, maybe even the smartest kid in New York, but sometimes he can be so fucking dumb.

Michelle pulls herself up into a seated position, Peter’s hands rushing to her sides to keep her steady. He barely puts any pressure on her ribs, but they twinge anyway. He notices, of course, because he’s got superhuman senses, but she’s pretty sure he would’ve noticed without the powers, too. She fists one hand in his sweatshirt and rests the other on the back of his neck—tugs so hard he has to catch himself with one hand on the metal bar behind her.

“I couldn’t leave you there,” she tells him. “Do you understand?”

He nods almost imperceptibly and leans forward just enough to brush his nose against hers. Michelle sighs. Clearly, she’s going to have to make the first move here, again. She closes the distance and kisses him—for real. His lips are softer than she expected, and he’s not very skilled, but to be fair, neither is she. After a moment, the hand still resting against her waist slides up her body to the side of her neck, where Peter cups her jaw, palm warm against her skin and thumb pressing against her cheekbone, and—oh. Wow. That’s nice.

She has to stop kissing him eventually, because she has a concussion and bruised ribs and stitches that pull when she moves her head a certain way. She doesn’t _want_ to, but someone in this relationship has to be the practical one, and she can already tell it isn’t going to be Peter. They maneuver themselves on the bed so Michelle is laying on her back, Peter curled up against her side with one arm around her stomach. He pushes his nose into the side of her cheek, and Michelle is smiling as she falls asleep.

* * *

Peter is still asleep when she wakes up in the morning. The sun shines through the window, but the top bunk protects her and Peter from its rays. Michelle gently untangles herself from his limbs and slowly stands. She’s not as woozy as she expected to be, but she can’t move her head too quickly. Taking a few steps forward, she looks around the room and observes what she was too worried to the night before—The Mets pennant pinned to the wall, the Lego AT-AT on the shelf, the chess set next to his bed. He’s been playing against himself. She’s about to open the door to find something to drink when she notices something on his desk: it’s the plastic Spider-Man watch she’d given him some months before. She honestly hadn’t expected him to keep it. She traces the face with her finger and looks over her shoulder at Peter, still sound asleep. God. She likes him so much.

When she walks into the main room of the apartment, Tony Stark is sitting on the couch. He’s got a baseball hat pulled over his eyes, like he’s sleeping, so maybe if she’s quiet she can get some water and return to Peter’s room without waking him.

“Good morning,” he says, removing the hat. “I can see you’re doing much better than you were twelve hours ago.”

Michelle doesn’t say anything. For one, her brain still hurts too much to think. Besides, what the hell is she supposed to say to _Tony Stark?_ She can’t believe he’s in Peter’s living room, let alone speaking to her about her health and wellbeing.

“May’s got a whole good cop/bad cop thing worked out for the two of us,” he continues. “I bet you can guess which role she’s so gracefully given me.”

“Bad cop?” Michelle says.

“Bingo! I thought I’d be a much better good cop—give the kid some good old father figure support, but apparently you and May have been bonding lately and she can’t bring herself to yell at you. Lucky me, huh?”

“Yeah, lucky you.” Michelle walks into the kitchen, opening the cabinet she knows holds the cups. She takes one and fills it to the brim with lukewarm tap water.

“Don’t drink that too fast or you’ll ralph. Take it from a seasoned concussion veteran.”

“Thanks.”

“So, Michelle is it?” Tony asks, leaning on one hand against the kitchen counter. Michelle nods. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Michelle’s brain finally catches up to her body and she remembers everything she swore she’d say to Tony Stark if she were ever unfortunate enough to meet him— _do you know how many civilians your weapons killed in the Middle East from 1992 to 2008?_ being her usual go-to opener. If he knew the answer, she’d consider giving him the time of day. If he didn’t, well.

But then she remembers whose doctor stitched her up the night before—who comforted Peter in the dark, when he was still scared and full of guilt. So she doesn’t say anything; she just looks Tony Stark straight in the eye and waits for him to go on.

“You see,” he says, “this is the part where I’m supposed to ask you if you have any idea what you’ve done, if you know how dangerous that was—and do you? _Do_ you know how dangerous that was?” Michelle nods. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page. But the thing is—Pepper probably would’ve done the same thing. Hell, she already has. So I know telling you not to do it again won’t mean shit. Just make sure next time you go in with backup.”

“I had Ned,” she protests.

“And how much good did he do you? Yeah, I thought so.”

Tony Stark stands up straight and heads over to the front door. Michelle follows him, feeling a strange need to walk him out even though she doesn’t even live in this apartment.

“Careful not to pull those stitches,” he tells her. “They’re worth more than your inevitable Ivy League tuition.”

Just as Michelle’s about to close the door behind him, he turns back around and places a hand on her shoulder.

“And MJ,” Tony Stark— _Tony Stark!—_ says, “take care of him.”

Michelle can only manage a small nod before he disappears down the stairwell. Not entirely convinced this wasn’t all a concussion-induced fever dream, Michelle swallows the last sips of her water and returns to Peter’s bedroom. She spots Ned on the top bunk, and she knows he’ll be insufferable when he wakes up and sees Peter and Michelle wrapped around each other. Oh, well. He can deal with it.

Michelle climbs back under the covers, pulling them up to her chin. Peter doesn’t wake up, but he stirs in his sleep and shifts closer to her body. She leans her head against his and waits to drift off once more.

* * *

Michelle has a theory: Peter Parker is in love with her.

It’s a little far-fetched, and some of her evidence is circumstantial, but it’s genuinely the only thing that explains why Peter’s been staring at her with a small smile on his face for the past eleven minutes. They’re not boyfriend-and-girlfriend, exactly, because they haven’t had a chance to have that conversation yet, but she’s pretty sure they’re on the same page.

She’s just not sure what to do with her information, now that she has it. How do you tell a friend-but-almost-lover that you know how they feel about you? It’s okay, though. It’s his secret to tell, and if he wants to do so, he will. Besides, Michelle’s pretty sure she’s in love with Peter Parker, too.   

**Author's Note:**

> I discovered partway through writing this fic that I am incredibly passionate about the relationship between May Parker and Michelle Jones (don't let me down MCU), and if you've read my most recent Percy Jackson fic, you already know I'm also incredibly passionate about boys who pick up gentle and loving mannerisms from their maternal figures. Need me a freak like Percy. Need me a freak like Peter. 
> 
> Anyway--I'm pretty sure this is my first time writing a first kiss scene. I hope it went well? lol 
> 
> I don't really use my writing-specific [tumblr](http://www.omgerinlovesloganlerman.tumblr.com) anymore, but feel free to shoot me a message over there if you'd like. 
> 
> I'm serious--go see Into the Spider-Verse. The animation is astounding, it's incredibly comedic but still manages to punch you in the gut a number of times, and Miles Morales is the most precious boy in the whole world. I've never seen anything created with so much love and care. Art for the sake of art. It's incredible.


End file.
